


I know better

by Kalendeer



Series: Short stand-alone stories [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7140386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalendeer/pseuds/Kalendeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Galadriel was the greatest of the Noldor, except Fëanor maybe, though she was wiser than he, and her wisdom increased with the long years."</p><p>In Valinor, Melkor is the first to tempt her with the prospect of besting her uncle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I know better

**Author's Note:**

> Artanis : Galadriel  
> Fëanaro : Fëanor  
> Nolofinwë : Fingolfin  
> Endorë : Middle Earth

In retrospect, it’s all Fëanaro’s fault.

Artanis meets Melkor for the first time a few days after the _hair blunder_ (that is, the moment when she understands that despite her smartness, her willfulness and athletic achievements, her uncle will only comment on her hair, as if she is actually responsible for their color). Or, rather, he meets her, at a royal party thrown in Tirion for Nolofinwë’s begetting day; a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, chocolate hair and dark eyes.

She doesn’t feel comfortable speaking with him, but she’s too polite not to engage in small talk. He is, after all, one of the Valar, brother to Manwë himself. Artanis is a princess of the house of Finarfin: she won’t shame her father by being less than perfect. She is surprised to find him quite pleasant. She is baffled when he asks about her _actual_ achievements.

As if they actually matter.

But they do, or at least he pretends they do. He never tells her she’s beautiful, or that the Light of the Trees shines in her hair. He only has words about things that _do_ deserve congratulations, and words precise enough to prove that he even read what she wrote. She almost forgets that she wanted to get rid of him.

When she does, she is caught in a dance with Fëanaro, unpleasant as always, who only offered to be able to hiss into her ear that she shouldn’t speak to Melkor (in retrospect, if Fëanaro had been wiser, he would have advised to make bed with him); she offers her hand to the Vala for the next waltz just for the sake of pissing her uncle off.

 

She doesn’t know what to think when Melkor seeks her again. He offers her tutorship and knowledge and shows interest, genuine and educated; not the cold, polite attention Fëanaro offers her when Finwë is in the room, nor the slightly puzzled and bewildered looks of her parents. She takes all of it greedily (Fëanaro _did_ study with Aulë), and when the knowledge starts to be a bit embarrassing for Melkor, his expression seems genuinely repentant as to how it was obtained. Artanis trusts the Valar, who claim their wayward brother is trustworthy; she ignores her own instincts.

In retrospect, Melkor knows exactly how to talk to her.

How to avoid praising her look. How to make her feel special. How to touch her, lightly, with shy fingers promising _more_ if she only wanted to ask.

One day, she grows the nerve to ask if he comes to her because Fëanaro refused him.

“Your uncle is finished,” Melkor proclaims with a shrug. “The world changes. He may have been the greatest once, but his _chef d’oeuvre_ is done, and he hasn’t produced anything groundbreaking ever since. He knows he will be replaced soon, as Rumil was when Fëanaro himself made him irrelevant.”

Melkor makes her believe she’s the one. The one who will strike her uncle down from his pedestal. The one who will amaze the Noldor, no, the whole of Valinor, and the Valar themselves. She will make them see past her face and her silly, shiny hair, to see the strength of her mind.

 

In retrospect, it’s unfair to think she should have seen it coming, but she should have the moment he started talking about love.

Artanis is young and her last crush was on her uncle, when she barely reached his elbows. She is grown, now, and each of Melkor’s not-so-innocent (but still quite prude) touches makes her blush. They sleep together (in a drunken moment; but of course Melkor can’t actually be inebriated) and there’s something oddly sincere in his fumbling (“What did you expect? I didn’t even have a _true_ body before!”). He quickly grows out of it (he is a fast learner and so is she), and that’s when the talks about being more than just friends starts.

He tells her exactly what she wants to hear. Like her, he is lonely and unappreciated (but no more, not when they are together). He sees greatness in Artanis. He sees the point when she will topple Fëanaro down and teach him some humility. He tells her about one of his lower brethrens, Melyana, who dwels in Endorë and married an elf and made him a king.

He doesn’t say he will marry her, but he does imply. He tells her to imagine herself as the greatest of the elves (a fitting mate for the greatest of the Ainur). He speaks of the deep hurt inflicted upon him by Varda’s rejection and whispers in the crook of her neck that she heals his wounded heart. He describes a great kingdom of the north, of dazzling snow and mountains higher than the Pelori (better prospects than being the last in line daughter of the last in line son).

Artanis starts to believe. She imagines herself seated at his right, the equal of the Valie, as the proud members of her family kneel in front of her. She imagines children of unrivaled powers, making Fëanaro’s look like mere candles in the wind.

She sees herself ruling over her own lands, as she believes she rules over the powerful, moaning body in her arms, over his arcing neck and his glazed eyes when she brings him to ecstasy. Each time she witnesses Fëanaro prancing around with his silly jewels, she just has to remind herself that she masters more than Light each night; that she has more than an average wife and average children and that, soon, she will have more than average jewels and his average mind. She just has to close her eyes for a second and hear Melkor _beg_ for her (her mercy, her love) to bring up a smile.

She can already picture the look on Fëanaro’s face when Melkor will finally leave Valinor for his former lands, bringing her as his queen, while her uncle will remain crownless in this pretty pet-house.

 

Melkor’s flight is a terrible blow (and, again, it’s all Fëanaro’s fault).

At first, Artanis refuses to believe. To believe he is the one responsible for the breaking of her family, responsible for Fëanaro being Fëanaro and Nolofinwë being an ambitious, vicious upstart. To believe he _left without her_ , after all the promises he made. To believe he ran without even a word for her.

He will return. He has to. He _loves_ her.

She remains faithful to him and doesn’t speak at Fëanaro’s trials. She doesn’t tell her parents that the devastation laid on her heart isn’t due to her hated uncle drawing a sword on her boring uncle. She stays silent, so easily! For the men are asked, while the women aren’t, as if Melkor laid waste only to the princes’ hearts.

And why not? Who cares about the women of the House of Finwë?

Artanis waits. She waits for him to come back for her. She still dreams of their kingdoms, of the vast knowledge he possess, of all the imperfections of his artificial body (all those imperfections that were his stroke of genius, that made him feel real). She misses his breath, the passion of their coupling, his voice, his _promises_. She can’t bear the thought of remaining in Valinor after all the freedom he offered.

He does come back.

Artanis hears her father’s whispers one night, and her blood freeze and boil.

He came back.

For Fëanaro.

Not for her. Not for his queen. Not for his mate.

 _For Fëanaro_.

 

She feels love turn to hate, for _Him_ and her uncle both. She doesn’t go to Valmar to see Fëanaro lick Nolofinwë’s boots (unless it’s the other way around?), because Artanis is certain she will kill that stealing piece of trash if she sees him. When Finwë dies, she feels like she hated _Him_ so much already she can’t hate him more.

She doesn’t swear Fëanaro’s stupid oath (she hopes he dies like the fool he is), but she does follow him to Endorë (she would have gone without him anyway; she would have gone _alone_ ). She keeps following even after Alqualondë, even after her father turns back, even on the ice, where she leads the vanguard (where poor Nolofinwë actually believes she cares about what he does and follows his lead, when _she doesn’t_ ).

She goes first, thinking she’ll keep walking until she finds _Him_ and stab _Him_ to death for leaving her.

 

Until they go to battle for the first time, and her cousin Arakano dies.

Until they arrive near Lake Mithrim and hear her cousin Maitimo is a prisoner.

Until she learns Fëanaro is not only dead, but died before he even got to the doorstep of Angband.

Until she sees the gates of Angband and wonders how she could ever want to be the queen of this place.

Until she hears _His_ whispers in her dreams, calling her –but no, she isn’t stupid, naïve Maitimo. She isn’t going to walk right into evil’s arms.

Artanis travels to Doriath to get as far as possible from Angband (from _Him_ and _His_ whispers). She stays because Melian’s girdle silences _Him_ , ever wondering if the maia queen sees a bond between them.

 

She doesn’t weep when He’s throw away from the world. She’s relieved, avenged at last.

 

She doesn’t hear the whispers until many, many years, in Lothlorien; there’s a light pull, but easily discarded, and Galadriel feels like laughing at the Ring’s feeble attempts to awaken anew _His_ old themes.

_She knows better._


End file.
